


Crazy Cheese and Big Cats

by SunSpell80



Series: TWD [2]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Episode Related, Gen, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Not really anti Jessie Anderson but not really pro Jessie Anderson ya feel?, One Shot Collection, Rating M because it's the Walking Dead, This is referring to what happened in 4.16, i mean seriously, not chronological
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-09-25 19:05:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9839927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunSpell80/pseuds/SunSpell80
Summary: A collection of one shots highlighting the familial relationship between Michonne and Carl.------Part Nine: Mom"We should probably talk...""About?""You know. The other day.""You mean when you both came out of Dad's bedroom half dressed in front of Jesus and half of Alexandria?"





	1. Video Games

**Author's Note:**

> Set during 5x12 "Remember" at the end of the second day (when Carl goes and hangs out with the teenagers).

“So, how was your day?” Carl asked, leaning against the sink.

Michonne shrugged. “A little surreal.” She admitted. “I spent most of it double-checking the wall.”

“Is it secure?”

“Seems to be.” She shook her head in amazement. “It’s really incredible. I can’t believe this has been here the whole time.”

“Yeah,” Carl echoed. “You’ll never guess what I did today.”

“Probably not.” Michonne agreed coyly, pretending not to take the bait and brushing her teeth. Carl smirked and rolled his eyes at her. “Okay, fine, tell me,” she said around the toothbrush.

“I played a _video game_.”

Michonne spit out some toothpaste. “You did not.”

“Hey, that wasn’t two minutes,” Carl pointed out. Michonne stuck her toothbrush back in her mouth and he took that as a cue to continue. “Yeah, I played a video game. There are a few other kids around my age that live here. They invited me to play with them. It was this first-person shooter game. And guess what?”

Michonne paused her brushing. “What?”

“I _sucked_.” He informed her seriously.

They stared at each other for a long moment before Michonne cracked up, and Carl laughed along with her.

“No seriously, I was terrible.” He insisted, chuckling. “I didn’t really play video games when I was a kid, and I’m not familiar with the controllers and I couldn’t figure out how to aim properly. It’s funny because when they picked it out, I thought _Oh, at least I won’t embarrass myself_. But I would’ve been better off playing Mario Cart or something.”

Michonne spat out the rest of the toothpaste. “Did it bother you? Playing a game where you kill people?”

Carl shrugged. “Not really. It’s just a bunch of pixels. It’s not even close to the same thing.” 

That’s a fair point. “Well, I’m glad you’ve met some people around your age.”

“Yeah, I haven’t really talked to anyone close to my age since Patrick died.” Carl admitted. “They kind of remind me of him, actually. Like, I think they’re a little older than me, but they seem younger somehow. They’re weak. Well, most of them,” he amended. “The two boys have been here the whole time. There’s this girl who came here eight months ago, though - ”

“Oh, there’s a _girl_.” Michonne echoed incredulously, giving him a knowing smirk and was rewarded with the boy’s face turning beet red.

“It’s not like that,” he muttered. “I don’t know her. She didn’t even play with us, she just sat on the bed and read a book.” 

“Mhmm.” Michonne dabbed a washcloth to wipe off her face. “And what’s her name?”

“Enid.” Carl said too quickly, then scowled slightly when her smile broadened. “Stop. I just pointed her out because she spent some time on the outside too.”

“No, that makes sense.” Michonne agreed. “It would probably be easier for you to connect with someone who’s shared experiences similar to what you went through. Someone who’s a survivor, someone strong.”

“Exactly.”

“Exactly, those are the qualities you should be looking for in a girlfriend,” Michonne teased him. “Is she pretty?”

“Michonne _.”_ Carl groaned. 

“She definitely is.” Michonne patted the top of his head. “You don’t need to be embarrassed, kid. I’m just happy for you. I didn’t know if I’d live to see the day you got your first crush.”

The mood turns a little more serious and Carl sighs. “I used to have a crush on Beth, actually.”

Michonne smiles sadly at him. “You did?”

“Yeah, back around when we first came to the prison.” He shrugged. “It was dumb, she was like five years older than me, practically an adult and I was just a little kid. But she was pretty, and she was sweet, and she was just really kind. Probably one of the kindest people I’ve ever known.”

Michonne pulled him toward her and hugged him. It bothered her that she couldn’t get through a conversation with any of her “family” without those they’d lost being brought into it. But this was the only way to grieve, recover, and eventually move on.

“Well, if she were still around I bet she’d be really flattered.” Michonne told him seriously, pulling back and managing to keep a straight face. “Since you’ve grown into such a little stud muffin.”

“ _Michonne!”_ Carl swatted at her, pulling a face. “You know what, just scooch aside, you’ve taken up more than your fair share of bathroom time, it’s my turn.”

“You can’t kick me out!” Michonne feigned outrage.

“We’re each allotted 10 minutes of bathroom time, and I demand to have mine embarrassment free.” Carl insisted, shooing her out playfully. 

Michonne threw the washcloth back at him and he caught it with a grin.

"Alright, just make sure you keep your face pimple-free for  _Eniiiid_." She called over her shoulder.

" _Stooooop!"_


	2. Worth It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during 5.07 "Crossed." An expansion on the Michonne scenes in this episode, because I found them really interesting.

_Bang. Bang. Bang._

Carl wiped a hand across his sweaty forehead. “I think that’s good enough,” he panted. “Honestly, if they can get through that, we’re fucked anyway.”

“Language,” Michonne chided him, half kidding, half serious. They were in a church after all.

“Okay, if they can get through that, we’re _screwed_ anyway,” Carl corrected, setting down the piece of pew leg he’d been using as a hammer. “Happy?”

Michonne shrugged. She hadn’t felt real happiness for a while, just short moments of fleeting joy in a world of fear and running. The last time she’d probably been truly happy was when they’d found Judith alive and safe after assuming she was dead. And even that hadn’t lasted.

Judith herself had been lulled into some sort of a trance when they’d been rhythmically pounding the boards into the windows and door. Now, she snapped out of it and began fussing, reaching her arms out for Carl and demanding his attention.

“Shhh, shhhh…” Carl reached into the basket and pulled her toward his chest. “Hey Judy. Shhh, it’s okay.”

Michonne watched him quiet the baby down, and felt it in her chest: a moment of fleeting joy. He’d always been so good and gentle with her, but getting Judith back after thinking he’d lost her had brought out Carl’s protective instincts stronger that she’d ever seen. In the prison, Beth had usually been the one to hold her since she was so good with babies and the best at keeping Judith calm. Now, the only time Judith wasn’t in Carl’s arms was when she was with Rick.

Carl set her back down in the basket and she giggled playfully. “What?” He asked the baby seriously, and she blew a spit bubble at him. “So that’s how you want this to go? Really?” He looked up at Michonne. “I think she just tried to spit at me.”

Michonne chuckled and walked over to give Judith a pat on the cheek. “That’s my girl.”

“Oh, now you’re ganging up on me?” Carl laughed. He withdrew his hand from the basket and listened to the sounds of Father Gabriel rummaging through the rectory. “He needs to learn how to fight,” he told Michonne, lowly and seriously.

“He doesn’t want to learn.”

“He’s gonna _die_.” Carl insisted with concern. “And he’s a good person, he deserves a fighting chance. He needs to learn how to kill Walkers at the very least. I mean, that’s not in the bible, is it? They’re already dead.”

“Hey, you don’t need to convince _me_.” Michonne reminded him. “But I was never very religious to begin with.”

Carl shrugged. “Hershel was religious. Maggie and Beth are. They learned how to fight, how to shoot guns. Maggie’s one of the best Walker killers I know now.” 

“Well you can try, but I’m warning you he’s probably not going to be very receptive.” Michonne told him in a hushed voice as Gabriel came out with a bucket of soapy water and a rag. They watched in silence as he desperately tried to clean the blood stain that was once Gareth out of the church floor.

Carl was not deterred, and he went into the rectory to gather his own supplies. He returned with an array of weapons and laid them down carefully in front of Gabriel: an assortment of knives, a machete, a shotgun, and a handgun. “Pick one,” he instructed softly, like a trainer trying not to spook a skittish horse.

Gabriel ignored him, shaking his head slightly.

“You need to learn how to defend yourself,” Carl told him lightly, as if it was obvious. Because it _was_ obvious to him, and Michonne too. But not to Gabriel. “We can teach you.”

Slowly, Gabriel stopped scrubbing. “Defend myself?” He asked in disbelief. “They said they’d go.”

“They were _liars_ , and _murderers_.”

“Just like us.” Gabriel retorted. 

“We protected ourselves,” corrected Carl. “They wanted us dead.” 

She expected him to leave it at that. In the past, that sort of logical statement would have seemed more than enough to Carl, and he wouldn’t have understood anyone who didn’t get it. 

Instead, he visibly changed tact, swallowing his frustration and continuing in a serious voice: “You’re lucky your church has lasted this long. You can’t stay in one place anymore. Not for too long.”

Michonne watched Carl carefully, struck by how world-weary he sounded.

“And once you’re out there,” Carl’s voice strained and Michonne felt her heart clench, knowing he was thinking of that night on the road, “You’re gonna find trouble you can’t hide from. You need to know how to fight.”

Father Gabriel stared up at him. After a long moment of silence, he reached forward and gingerly grabbed the machete with two fingers.

“Good choice,” Carl approved, then noticed the way the machete flopped pathetically in Gabriel’s hand, “But - you’re not holding it right, you’ve gotta be able to drive it down,” he instructed Gabriel a little too readily, visibly demonstrating, “because sometimes their skulls aren’t as soft and you need to be to be able to -”

“I - I’m sorry,” Gabriel gasped out, sweating and looking sick. He appeared to swallow down bile and stood up, shaking. “I need to lie down.”

He walked toward the rectory past Carl, who looked disappointed. Once Gabriel had shut himself in, Carl went to sit back next to Judith and Michonne.

“I scared him off.” Carl admitted, sounding almost ashamed of himself. “Probably shouldn’t have been talking about driving into skulls so quickly, sometimes I just forget, you know?”

“Hey, no, you did good.” Michonne assured him. She wanted to tell him that she knew what he’d been thinking about, and to tell him how proud she was of him for drawing on his own painful experiences in order to help someone. But she didn’t know if he was ready to talk about that night yet. She didn’t know if he ever would be. So she just pushed some of his hair out of his eyes and squeezed his shoulder affectionately. “You did good.”

He gave her a faint smile and turned back to Judith, the moment over for him.

Michonne’s thoughts stayed on that night. She remembered how terrified she had been, not mainly for herself, but for Carl. She’d killed two men that night. Rick had ripped a man’s throat out with his teeth and stabbed another brutally to death. Such violence would have appalled a man like Gabriel. But that was because he didn’t understand.

Later, when Carl was busy feeding Judith, Michonne knocked on the door to check on Gabriel.

“I know all this is new to you,” Michonne told him, glancing around at the nearly destroyed church with the bloodstained floors. “…all of it. I just wanted to tell you, for you to know…” 

It took her a moment to figure out exactly what she was trying to convey. To put into words how grateful she was to have found these people, to have something worth fighting for. 

“The things that we do?" The sound of Carl comforting Judith reached her ears and Michonne's heart swelled painfully. "They’re worth it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I watched this episode, it seemed obvious to me what Michonne was thinking when Carl was talking about not being able to stay in one place for too long and finding trouble you can't hid from. And the fact that she went from that to telling Gabriel that everything the group does is worth it gave me a lot of feels. The fight with the claimers is never outright discussed in the series, which I know frustrates a lot of people, but I think it's in the subtext of a lot of Season 5, particularly in the dynamic shift between Rick, Michonne, and Carl. 
> 
> Also, I thought the moment with Gabriel and the weapons showcased how much Carl has grown since he was a little kid who saw everything in black and white. He's actually very patient and kind to Gabriel and I just really loved this whole scene.
> 
> Plus, Michonne + Carl + Judith is life.


	3. Nightmare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: There is a flashback/nightmare of an attempted sexual assault. It's not very graphic, but could be potentially triggering, as could the discussion that the characters have about the actual attempted sexual assault. If you want a warning of what happens, read the notes at the end.
> 
> I didn't think we'd get into this heavy material this early, but I find this kind of hurt/comfort very therapeutic to write (plus "A" was such a huge turning point in their relationship).

_It only took one second._

_One second, he’s sound asleep in his bed. Safe._

_The next, he’s being dragged into wakefulness by arms pulling at him. They were dragging him from a car, and he tried desperately to fight the arms off. But they had a tight hold on him, keeping him pinned against a dirty, much larger body._

_Cold, sharp steel settled against his throat, promising pain and impending death if he didn’t stop struggling. He tried to tug at the hand that was wrapped around him, get the knife away from him, but it was futile._

_“Shhhh…” A sinister voice whispers, hot breath against his ear._

_Dad and Michonne are immobilized, guns to their heads, their own weapons out of reach. Daryl’s grunting out in pain as he gets the shit kicked out of him by two armed men._

_This is probably the most helpless he’s ever seen them._

_“We can settle this, we’re reasonable men.” The leader of the other group tells Dad jovially. “First, we’re gonna beat Daryl to death. Then we’ll have the girl._ Then _the boy. Then I’m gonna shoot you and we’ll be square.”_

_He feels a deep sniff against his neck and whimpers, trying to tilt his head away. The arm around his neck tightens. “That means we’re gonna fuck you into the dirt while your daddy watches,” The man whispers into his ear, voice barely audible._

_His heart rate spikes and he barely has time to let the words settle in and panic about them before he’s being thrown violently to the ground. He tries to scramble away, but the man’s huge body pretty much sits on him, straddling him to keep him pinned. The man tries to grab hold of him by his arms and he thrashes back and forth, laughing at his efforts to get free. “Stop your squirming,” the man mocks him, trying to get him to stay still._

_Dad’s furious, but the leader laughs while he makes threats, like this is all some big joke. There’s the discharge of two guns as Dad and Michonne struggle to get free, but they’re quickly subdued._

_He keeps reaching desperately for the knife the man threw down on the leaves by him, but the handle’s just out of reach and he only manages to cut up his fingers as he tries to get a hold on the handle. It hurts, but not as much as the weight of the man on him, the crushing grip that he has on his left wrist. The man quickly gets a solid grip of his now bloody right hand, and uses one hand to grab them both._

_Before he can react, the man flips him over onto his stomach and pins him down, positioning him so that the man’s body weight keeps him immobile, with one hand pushing his face forcefully into the leaves and dirt. Rocks and twigs cut deep into his cheek from the force of it, and he cries out loudly, half in pain, half in utter terror._

_There’s a clinking noise as the man undoes his belt. The man tugs at_ his _pants, fingers curling under the waistband to press into his hips and then things start to go a little fuzzy._

_The next second his pants are off and the man is reaching around to touch him. He hears Dad yelling, but it’s so far away._

_“Dad!” He calls out, voice croaking. “Help me.”_

_But when he looks, his dad is sprawled out by the log, blood pooling around his head. Michonne’s head has been sliced off by her own sword. Daryl is an unrecognizable, bloody pulp by the car._

_The other four men, his family’s_ murderers, _move toward him. They stand over him, watching, jeering, and then he feels the man against him and he tries to get away but he can’t, he can’t move, he’s suddenly frozen._

_And then there’s nothing but pain._

“No!”

Carl bolts up, heart hammering in his chest. He looks around wildly, trying to get a grasp on his surroundings.

It takes him a few moments to recognize where he is - his room in their house in Alexandria. Well, supposedly “his room.” They’ve only been here for a couple weeks and it’s difficult to call it that just yet. He’s afraid to get complacent, to think they might actually be able to stay here and make it a home.

He runs a shaky hand through his hair, which is damp. He’s sweaty, his shirt sticking oddly to his skin, which feels clammy. 

“Shit,” he mutters, as the terror of the dream fades, but the images stay vivid in his mind. Carl can never remember the good dreams when he wakes up. Nightmares, though…those he remembers just fine.

As his senses return to him, he recognizes the sound of Judith fussing down the hall. Relieved to have something productive to do, Carl slips out of bed and pads as quietly as he can into her room. When she sees him, she stops crying and makes grabby hands at him. He scoops her up, catching a peek at the clock next to her crib. 5:17 A.M.

Judith relaxes in his hold, but he can tell she’s not totally at ease yet. With a sigh, Carl exits the room with her and heads down the stairs. He knows exactly what she needs.

They walk out onto the porch and he sits down with her on the porch swing. Content now, Judith snuggles into his arms. 

Sleeping hadn’t been an issue with Judith for a long time, since before the prison fell. They’d all joked that Judith’s special talent was the ability to fall asleep anywhere. Part of it had definitely been the amount of time spent in the scorching weather, exhaustion and malnutrition. Now she was getting proper meals, all the nap-time she could ever want, and an air-conditioned house. 

These were all good things of course, but it meant that Judith wasn’t as tired as she used to be. And she got antsy from being in the house too much, used to falling asleep out under the stars. So Carl and Rick had spent quite a few nights out here on the porch, letting Judith fall asleep outside before carrying her in. Usually they only had to do it right before bed, but a couple of times she’d woken everyone up in the middle of the night with her cries. Fortunately, Carl had heard her before she’d been able to wake anyone else up.

Or, so he’d thought.

The porch door creaks and Carl jerks his head to look, still jumpy from the nightmare. Judith gives a discontented grumble at being jostled. 

Michonne walks over to them, looking like she’d just rolled out of bed.

“Sorry, did we wake you?” He asks guiltily.

Michonne shrugs, leaning against the railing to face them. “I don’t think so. I was having a restless night and heard you come downstairs. Was she fussing?”

“Yeah,” he rubs his thumb in circles on Judith’s head and she settles back down. “I was already awake though, so it was fine.”

“You having a restless night too?”

Carl shrugs, “You could say that.”

Michonne nods knowingly. “Nightmare?”

She knows some about the nightmares he used to get in the prison. Just that he had them, not what they were about, though it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out what. 

They’d been about Mom, of course.

Most times it was exactly how it happened. The Walker attack, getting trapped in the boiler room, the contractions starting, Mom telling Maggie to slice her open with Carl’s knife to save the baby, the blood, the screaming, and then the final shot that had ended it all.

Sometimes though, he didn’t have the guts. He got scared and refused to shoot her, to put her out of her misery. And then she turned, and ripped Judith apart. Those dreams were bad.

Other times, it turned out differently. They’re rescued before Carl has the chance to pull the trigger, and Hershel manages to save Mom, to miraculously bring her back. 

Those dreams were far worse.

The nightmares had stopped once they were out on the road. There was too much running, too much terror in reality to allow for that kind of weakness in his dreams. 

“They killed you,” Carl tells her softly. “They killed all of you.” He’d never told her about his nightmares before. There was no one in the world who would understand exactly what had happened in the boiler room when he shot his mother. Maggie had been there for some of it, but she’d left before he’d taken the shot. In a sick way, it was the last intimate moment between Mom and him, and because of that he wanted to keep it private.

But Michonne had been there that night on the road. So had Dad and Daryl. None of them had ever really talked about it. There’d been no time, between moving from one nightmare to the next.

“Who did, the walkers?” Michonne asks sympathetically. They all get _those_ dreams of course. Carl doesn’t even count those as nightmares any more. Walkers in his dreams are just a typical night’s sleep.

Carl shakes his head. “No, the men Daryl was traveling with.” He watches her face harden. “They killed you, Dad, and Daryl.”

Michonne smiles sadly at him, and reaches forward to pat the now sleeping-Judith’s head. “But they didn’t. We survived, and we made it here. We’re all okay.”

“It felt real though,” he tries to explain, throat closing up and he hates how shaky he sounds. “In my dream. It felt like you all died. What would’ve happened if you’d all died. If Dad hadn’t - if he hadn’t been able to-”

Carl feels himself clutching Judith too tightly and forces himself to relax so he doesn’t accidentally hurt her. He hears Michonne intake a sharp breath but he can’t bring himself to look at her. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes and he feels so weak and ashamed.

A gentle hand touches his head and Michonne cards her fingers through his hair. “C’mere,” She tells him, sitting next to him on the bench swing and tugging him so that he leans against her shoulder. “It’s okay. It didn’t happen.”

“I _know_ ,” He blurts in frustration. “It didn’t, so why’m I…I shouldn’t be…why am I dreaming about it? I should be fine, nothing happened. I _was_ fine, but then we got here and now I’m…” Carl trails off, looking at the giant wall off in the distance. “I think this place is making me weak,” He admits quietly. 

Michonne is quiet for a while as she considers this. Finally, she says, “Did I ever tell you about my uncle who fought in the Korean war?”

“No,” Carl replies, not sure where this apparent non-sequitur is going, but trusting Michonne to have a point. She always has a point, no matter how random her stories seem.

“He was known for being incredibly optimistic over there,” Michonne continues. “No matter what horrors he saw, how many close scrapes he came to death, he always bounced back from it. Always was the first to recover, to keep going. He kept his sense of humor when others became grim. When he got back to his family, he seemed like the same old Uncle Terry. Nothing phased him.”

Michonne takes a heavy breath and Carl prepares himself for the worst. “Then on New Year’s, six months after his tour ended, he tried to kill himself. He’d been having nightmares ever since he got back, and he never told anyone. He never talked about it, and it all built up inside him until he snapped. But after that he went to therapy, he talked about his experiences with a few close people. He didn’t get better right away. It took time. He had to learn to allow himself to not be okay, before he could actually _become_ okay.”

Carl leans against her shoulder, mulling this over. “Were you scared?” He asks her eventually. “When they threatened to…hurt you. Did that scare you?”

“Of course it did.” Michonne replies. “I’ve been threatened with that a few times, after the Turn. Once before it. It’s scary every time. Nobody’s ever touched me, but I’ve still had nightmares about it. That night…I thought it was all over. I thought they were going to hurt me, hurt _you_ , and then kill us all.”

“Me too.” Carl whispers, staring straight ahead. “I thought he was gonna…he told me…” He can’t tell her, he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to voice aloud what the man had said to him. He can feel the weight of him on his back, his hands reaching for him, the man’s erection pressing up against him the whole time. He feels sick. Dirty. “I really thought it was gonna happen. I thought he was gonna hurt me.”

“He did.” Michonne corrects him, her voice tight with anger. “He did hurt you. Not as badly as he could have, but he did hurt you. And if there is a hell, I guarantee you he’s rotting down there for it.”

Carl’s pretty sure he doesn’t believe in heaven or hell (if they exist he knows where he’s going so he’s sort of counting on them not existing), but the thought of the man who tried to rape him burning for all eternity gives him the same sick satisfaction he felt watching his father gut the man like a fish. He knows that makes him broken, fragmented in a way that will probably never be fixed. He’ll never completely belong here, with these good people. He’ll never be the person his mother wanted him to be.

But maybe, one day, he can be okay. And that’ll be enough. 

Right now, it’s enough to sit here with Michonne and Judith. To let himself not be okay for now, so that one day he will be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically, Carl has a nightmare about the night the Claimers attacked, except in his nightmare they kill Rick, Michonne, and Daryl. Everything that happens in canon is described in a fair amount of detail, but right around where he says "it gets fuzzy" is when it becomes less descriptive because it didn't really happen (this is also because it gets more serious and I didn't want to get graphic with it). Essentially he dreams about what would've happened if Rick hadn't bitten out Joe's throat.


	4. Toy Soldier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place during 3x07 "When The Dead Come Knocking". Basically Michonne's thoughts when she first met Carl. Yes, I know Carol is still holding Judith when they go out to the car, but they pass around that baby so much on this show I didn't think it would be unrealistic for Carol to give her to Carl and then take her back in the time gap. 
> 
> Also, this is really short.

There are two types of children left in this world.

There are the innocent ones. The ones who play with toys and make up games together. The ones who cry out in fear at the sight of a walker. The ones whose hands clumsily fumble with weapons, if their parents let them use them at all. The ones whose days are filled with smiles and laughter. There are fewer and fewer of these children every day.

Then there are the other ones. 

Michonne has only met a couple of them. She wonders if these children always had something inside them that made them different or if all children will eventually become that way, some of them just changed quicker than others.

The boy watching her from across the cell block is the second type.

She saw it in the way he watched her from behind the prison fence, eyes calculating as she took on the walkers who were swarming her, his hands steady and sure as he raised his gun. Most children his age would have panicked, started screaming and firing without thinking. But he was patient, waiting for his moment.

She saw it in the way the leader (his father, she thinks) assigned him to watch her while the old man stitches up her leg and he accepted the orders like a miniature soldier. It seems like a normal interaction for them. It probably is.

In another context Michonne thinks she’d find him adorable with his bright blue eyes and messy dark hair, playing dress-up in a dirty, oversized cowboy hat. But that’s definitely not a toy gun his fingers are twitching toward, and the cold eyes glaring at her from under the brim of his hat tell her that he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot her if she made a wrong move. 

Michonne wonders if this is what Andre would have been like. If he would have turned out cold and hostile. Joyless. She likes to think that she would’ve done a better job letting him remain a child for as long as possible…but maybe that’s why he was gone now. Maybe there’s only room in this world for children like this boy.

The door opens and the rest of the group comes out. “Okay,” The leader says abruptly. “We’ve made our decision, we’re going to head out as soon as we can gather supplies. Can you walk?”

Michonne looks over at the old man who averts his eyes. She’s pretty sure she shouldn’t be walking on her leg anytime soon, but she also knows that the pretty girl Merle took is the old man’s daughter. “Give me a few hours, I should be good to go.”

“You’ve got one.” The leader informs her and Michonne grits her teeth as he passes her. _Jackass._ “Everyone get together enough food and ammunition for at least a week. We don’t know how long we’ll be out there for. Carol,” his voice was softer as he turned to address the grey-haired woman holding the infant, “you should get something to eat, you’ve probably starved.”

Carol nodded gratefully and moved back toward the cellblock door, stopping to deposit the baby into the boy’s arms as she passed him.

As much as Michonne wanted to look anywhere else except for the infant, she couldn’t help but watch, transfixed, as the boy wrapped his arms around her confidently and securely. His tense, hostile features relaxed and he actually _smiled_ as the baby seemed to make a grab for his hat.

“You want it? It’s a little big for you.” He tilted his head down so that the baby could get to it and laughed as her tiny fists knocked against the rim. 

Michonne couldn’t help the smile that crept onto her face.

Maybe not entirely joyless. 


	5. Fourteen Going on Forty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cheated. There's no Carl in this chapter, just Rick and Michonne (Richonne!) talking about Carl.  
> This can be read as a companion piece to "Video Games" (chapter one of this fic). Set shortly after 5x12.

They step out onto their porch, ridiculous in their matching uniforms.

Michonne picks at the stiff, starchy jacket, wrinkling her nose. “This feels odd.”

“It’s almost like…going back in time.” Rick admits. “Like nothing ever changed. I feel like we’re trying to put ourselves in the past before everything, pretending that we’re the people we used to be. Fooling ourselves.”

The weight of his statement sinks in and they ponder in silence.

Finally:

“Speak for yourself.” Michonne replies dryly. “I was a financial manager.”

Rick barks out a laugh. “Fair enough.” 

And they continue their patrol.

On the edge of the dock, they come across Jessie’s eldest son Ron and a teenage girl Rick has seen around but hasn’t been introduced to yet. “Hey mister Grimes!” Ron walks over cheerfully.

“Hello Ron, how are you doing?” Rick asks, automatically falling into his “gunslinger” stance as Glenn teasingly called it…even though he didn’t have a gun on him.

“I’m doing well, and yourself?” He’s well-mannered, Rick notes. Lori would’ve approved.

The girl is not nearly as well mannered. She folds her arms across her chest and looks Michonne and Rick over coolly.

“Fine, fine.” Rick glances over at Michonne. “Have you two had the chance to meet? This is Michonne, she’s my partner.” He realizes how that sounds, so he quickly adds, “our other constable.”

Michonne raises her eyebrows at his words but doesn’t question them. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too. This is Enid, my girlfriend.”

Enid rolls her eyes at them. “Hi.”

An awkward silence reigns over them all. 

“Alright, we won’t bother you two anymore, just promise you’ll... stay out of trouble.” Rick told them with a hint of sarcasm. He wasn’t sure exactly what trouble there was to get into in this squeaky clean community.

“We will. Again, it was nice to meet you Michonne!” Ron tugs Enid’s hand and she follows him with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.

“Have a nice day. Nice to meet you Enid!” Michonne calls after them, then turns to Rick with a huge smile on her face for some reason. 

“What?” Rick asks her, suspicious.

Michonne’s smile widens. “She’s _really_ pretty.”

Rick scrunches up his face. “I guess? She’s a nice looking kid. What of it?”

“Oh. _Rick_.” Michonne shakes her head and starts walking again. “I cannot believe I’m more invested in your son’s love life than you are.”

Well that took a turn. “Carl doesn’t have a love life he’s too young for that.” Rick protests, catching up to her.

Now Michonne outright _laughs_ at him. “He’s fourteen going on forty. Ha, you have got a big storm coming if you think he’s not already interested in girls. I’ll have you know that he’s already mentioned Enid to me. He pretended it wasn’t a big deal, but I know the look.”

Rick’s head spins with this new information. “But she’s dating Jessie’s son.”

“Oh please.” Michonne makes a _pshhhh_ noise. “She’s not interested in him. Did you see her roll her eyes when he called her his girlfriend?”

“I thought she was reacting to us.”

“You need study some body language, my friend. That girl is bored as hell with him.” Michonne grins, clearly enjoying this. “They probably only started dating because there’s so few people their age here. But _then_ in comes your little badass, heartthrob of a son -”

“Stop,” Rick begs, resisting the urge to laugh.

“And who can blame Enid for being intrigued by this swashbuckling stranger?” Michonne continues dramatically, playing off his discomfort. “Those soulful eyes, that dashing hat -”

“Okay, now you’re just being ridiculous on purpose,” chuckles Rick, bumping against her shoulder. 

“Maybe,” she concedes, bumping back against his shoulder. 

They continue walking in amicable silence for a few more minutes.

Then:

“But seriously Rick please tell me you’ve had The Talk with him because I have a feeling he’s gonna need part two very soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just really loved the idea of Michonne instantly knowing what's going to happen with Enid and Rick being oblivious and Michonne having to convince him like no Rick your son is adorable there's no way this girl is going to stay with this Ron dude now that your son is here get with it Rick.  
> I feel like Michonne is the sort of parent who KNOWS before the kid even does, while Rick is the sort of parent who thinks they're just friends until he catches them making out on the couch.


	6. Trust Yourself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some hurt/comfort following the Claimer's attack in 4.16

Carl’s breathing against her chest was shallow and panicky. Michonne just kept stroking his hair, trying to comfort him. The man’s screams gradually turned to gurgles, then ceased all together. Rick continued to stab him. 

“Shhh, it’s over now.” Michonne whispered, hugging Carl tightly to her. “You’re safe now. It’s over, hon.” 

Carl was completely unresponsive, his eyes glazed over as he watched his father stabbing his attacker’s corpse over and over again.

“You okay?” Michonne looked up to see that Daryl had approached them. He looked as lost as she felt.

She gave a brief nod, before casting a concerned look down at Carl who had not acknowledged Daryl’s presence.

“Carl.” Daryl directly addressed him. “You okay, bud?”

The sound of his name jerked Carl out of his shock and he nodded automatically. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely, his voice broken from screaming. “I’m f-”

His face blanched, somehow turning whiter than it already was. He abruptly pushed away from Michonne and hurled, narrowly missing Daryl’s shoes. 

Daryl pulled a face, but it appeared to be more sympathetic than disgusted. “Here,” he mumbled pushing his canteen in Carl’s direction. “Drink. Slowly.”

Michonne looked past Daryl at Rick, who was still stabbing the man’s body. She wondered if he was avoiding stabbing him in the brain on purpose so that he could reanimate and Rick could kill him again.

Daryl followed her gaze. “Think I should try and stop him?” He asked Michonne quietly.

“I wouldn’t.” It would be suicide to get between Rick and his prey when he was like this. This was not the man she’d known for the past several months, who planted vegetables and sang his baby daughter to sleep. This was the monster she’d seen glimpses of when she’d first come to the prison, wracked with grief from his wife’s death. Michonne had been wary of him then, more than a little intimidated. Now, she wasn’t fearful…but she wasn’t stupid.

She looked back at Carl who was finished with his water and sitting back on his haunches, seemingly fascinated by the pool of vomit by Daryl’s feet. He still looked queasy, and she hoped he wasn’t going to throw up again. They’d had so little food the past few days, he couldn’t afford it.

“Can you stay out here with him?” Michonne asked Daryl, nodding over to Rick. “I’m gonna take Carl into the car, try to get some sleep.”

“’Course.” Daryl agreed. He glanced at Joe’s corpse with guilt.

Michonne didn't have time to deal with any remorse he might be feeling. She didn’t care about asking him what he was doing with those men, at the moment she just really did not give a shit.

She ushered Carl into the backseat of the car. It worried her that he didn’t protest at all, normally he would’ve insisted on staying with his dad, probably been irritated at her treating him like a child. But this wasn’t ‘normal.’ That was the issue.

They sat in the back, Michonne sitting by the door on the driver’s side. Next to her, Carl brought his knees up and sat in an upright fetal position. She felt like she needed to say something, but couldn’t think of what to say. She desperately wanted to check him over, try to patch up whatever injuries he might have, but didn’t think he’d let her. 

"Michonne?"

The voice was so small and child-like that she almost didn't recognize it as Carl's for a second. In the entire time she'd known him, she'd never heard him sound so vulnerable.

"Yes?" She replied, looking at him. His face was tucked away from her, but she could see the moonlight highlighting the angular slope of his nose and his cheeks, still full from the baby fat he had yet to completely shed. 

"He was...he tried to take off my clothes."

Michonne's breath caught in her throat. Realized that this might be about to turn into a question she had no idea how to answer - never imagined she'd  _have_ to answer. At the same time, the rage she'd had no room to feel earlier hit her like a wave, blurring her vision for a second. "I know, baby." She murmurs, trying to shove it down. She'd been the one closest to him, with no one beating her senseless to draw her attention away from it. She'd seen everything and it will probably be seared into her brain for the rest of her life.

"Why..." Carl began, and Michonne's stomach clenched in dread. "Was he...did he..." Even with his face mostly hidden from her, she could see him struggling to voice his thoughts. "Did he mean what I thought he meant when he said they were going to 'have' us?"

Carl titled his face back up to look at her and there was no need to ask for clarification. It was written on his face: fear, horror, confusion, disgust, and a sadness that made her ache. 

"Yes." She isn't sure what else to say.

He nodded blankly then curled up again. Michonne thought she might have seen him shudder, but when she tried to shift toward him he just folded himself in tighter.

For the first time since she’d bonded with Carl on that run eight months ago, Michonne was at a complete loss of how to handle him. A sense of inadequacy overwhelmed her. His mother would know what to do. Michonne was a poor replacement, a woman who hadn’t been able to keep her own baby boy alive.

 _Help me_ , she said silently. This time though, it wasn’t _her_ dead love she was speaking to. It was Rick’s. _Lori, please. Help me help him. I don’t know what to do._

Michonne knew it was completely in her mind. That her brain was manufacturing a way to help her cope with the trauma, to give her a solution.

But still, the voice that answered back was completely unfamiliar to her: a light, lilting voice with the softest Georgian drawl: _Yes you do_. _Trust yourself, Michonne._

Instinctively, her hand reached out to rest on Carl’s right shoulder, so that her arm wrapped around his back. He flinched initially but didn’t push her away. Michonne didn’t say anything, just rubbed soothing circles on his shoulder with her thumb. Like she used to do with Andre when he was scared.

They sat there in silence. Gradually, she felt Carl begin to un-tense, leaning into her side. He started to shake and she knew without looking that he was crying. What started as a few whimpers grew into full-fledged sobs. Michonne still didn’t say anything, just pulled him close to her more tightly, relieved when he hugged her back. 

“That’s it, let it out,” she murmured into his hair. “Let it out, baby. It’s okay.”

Eventually his sobs evened out and when his breaths became deep and slow she knew he'd fallen asleep. Carefully, Michonne adjusted him so that his head was on her lap, legs stretched out across the seats. She noticed, with no small amount of revulsion, that the hood of his sweatshirt was damp from that pervert’s drool. 

 

 

He looked so peaceful, normally tense features softened with sleep. Michonne’s heart ached. God, he was so young. 

She wished he was older. It was strange, because normally adults wanted kids to remain children forever, but this world had turned everything upside-down and he was at the worst age to be caught up in that. Old enough to have to defend himself, too young to be able to do so properly. 

Several years from now he’d be finished growing, be tall enough to stab Walkers in the head, strong enough to fight back against those who would try to hurt him. And maybe Michonne would be able to breathe a little easier (though part of her knew that she was too far gone, that her affections for this boy were too close to maternal love and she would probably never stop panicking at the sight of him in danger).

But until then, he needed the adults around him to look out for him. He needed his father, he needed Daryl. 

 _He needs you_ , Rick had said, the morning after she’d found them following the prison’s fall. She’d suspected at the time that he hadn’t just been telling her how important her friendship was to his son. It wasn’t just friendship Carl needed. He needed a _mother_.

 _Trust yourself_ , She heard Lori’s voice say again in the back of her mind. _You can do this. He needs you._

 _Okay_ , Michonne replied, settling in more comfortably, brushing a hand against Carl’s bloody cheek. _I can do this._


	7. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during 4.08 +4.10

Michonne can’t tear her eyes away from the tracks in the mud. They’ve become her entire world: two sets of footprints. One uneven and large, as if the person had been staggering. One even and quite a bit smaller, probably belonging to a woman…or an adolescent boy.

 

The tracks lead to a sleepy bungalow in a row of similarly abandoned houses. Lying in the road in front of the house is an enormous empty tin of pudding.

Michonne inspects it. It’s clearly been freshly eaten.

Her hand is on her sword as she creeps up the side porch steps and peeks into one of the windows. There are two figures sitting on the couch and her hand raises her katana slightly in defense…before it drops back into its sheath with a thud.

Tears prickle at her eyes and Michonne releases a sob, before turning her eyes to the sky. _Thank you_ , she tells God, or Mike, or Andre, or whoever brought her this miracle.

Suddenly she can’t get to the door fast enough, and she knocks on it with little thought. There’s the frantic sound of safeties coming off and Michonne just grins, giving the peephole a little wave. After a moment, there’s a scuffling sound as they move aside the couch that’s pushed against the door, then the door’s open and then…

“Hi.” Rick Grimes grins at her, face even more swollen than it was the last time she saw him, but he’s grinning and radiant and alive.

“Michonne!” Carl pushes past his dad, flinging his arms around her in a desperate hug. “You’re here!”

“Yeah.” She blinks backs the tears that threaten to spill from her eyes again, looking at Rick over Carl’s dark head of hair. “I’m here.”

* * *

It’s starting to get cooler and Michonne’s vest just isn’t going to cut it anymore. Unfortunately, the only shirt she can find in the whole house is a plain white button that’s about three sizes too big for her. 

Oh well. Her vanity was pretty much the first thing to go out the window in the apocalypse.

She enters the dining room, water bottles in hand. Carl takes one look at her oversized shirt and, like the little shit he is, starts to snigger immediately.

“Do you have something to say about my extremely comfortable and _attractive_ shirt?” Michonne asks him archly. 

“No, no.” Carl laughs. “It looks great. Oh, you missed a -” He points at an undone buttons near the hem of the shirt.

Michonne starts to fix it, then, realizing indeed how much the shirt is completely drowning her, decides to hell with it and just ties it up in the back before taking a seat at the table.

She pours some cereal into her bowl and winces at the dry sound. “I wish we had some soy milk.”

“ _Seriously_?” Judging by the look on Carl’s face, you’d think she just suggested they eat dog poop.

“Yes, _seriously_.” Michonne insists. “Have you ever tried it?”

“My best friend in third grade, he was allergic to dairy,” Carl recounts, in storytelling mode. “And he would always bring this soy stuff to lunch. I tried it.”

“And?” Michonne prompted.

“I threw up!” 

“Oh yeah right.” She scoffs, not able to hide her grin. She loves seeing him like this. When his face is scrunched up with mirth, he actually looks his age for once.

Carl concedes. “Okay, okay, I almost threw up. But I was like _bleghhhh_.” He leans over, making a dramatic retching sound. Michonne chuckles at his theatrics. “Seriously, I would rather have _powdered milk_ than to have to drink that stuff again,” He says empathetically, clearly impassioned about the topic. “I would rather have Judith’s formula-”

Just like that, his face drops. What was once a grinning, happy child is now a devastated, traumatized young man. 

“I’m gunna go finish my book.” Carl mutters, abruptly pushing away from the table and fleeing the room. “I only have a couple chapters…”

And just like that, he’s gone.

Michonne sighs, looking down at his half-eaten bowl of cereal. When she had miraculously found Rick and Carl yesterday, she hadn’t asked about Judith. She knew if either of them believed there was any possibility that she was alive, they wouldn’t have left the prison. Which meant that they had every reason to believe the worst, whether they were assuming she hadn’t survived, or if they’d seen her mangled body somewhere.

She really hopes that it isn’t the latter. She wouldn’t wish that horror on anyone, especially not her dearest friends. 

The whole time she’d been tracking those footprints, she hadn’t let herself dare to hope who she might find at the end. If she let herself start to fantasize about who she most wanted to reunited with, then she might be disappointed with whoever she came across, when she should only be grateful. So she’d tried not to think about it.

But when she came to the end of the trail and looked through that window, only to see Rick and Carl sitting against the couch, looking weary and beaten to hell but _alive_ goddamnit, she knew she’d been fooling herself. They were the ones she’d been looking for. They were her home.

Michonne finishes her cereal and makes her way into the kitchen. Rick’s going through the drawers, still looking like he’s used up eight of his nine lives. His face is practically unrecognizable. 

“Thank you,” Rick tells her empathetically, and Michonne shoots him a quizzical look. “I heard him laughing in there,” he elaborates. “I almost forgot what that sounded like.”

Her heart breaks a little more at the forlornness in Rick’s tone. Michonne’s heard Carl laugh before, but only on occasion and it _has_ been awhile since she heard it. He probably used to laugh all the time before, she realizes. 

“I can’t be his father and his best friend,” Rick continues, then gives her an almost pleading expression. “He needs you.”

Michonne’s eyes widen slightly. Her bond with Carl has always been a lighthearted one, formed over a love for comic books and candy. But what Rick’s asking of her…

“Now, I know that’s a lot to throw at you, so if you’re ever feeling like you need a break-”

“I’m done taking breaks.” Michonne says before she even realizes she’s speaking the words. She wants this. She wants to be more than just a friend for Carl. She wants to look out for him, to watch over him. To love him. 

She just isn't sure if she knows how.

* * *

They gather supplies and Carl is quiet, in a way that she hasn’t seen him be since after he started trusting her. He told his father as they left that it was due to hunger, but later when she offers him food he refuses and claims that he’s tired. 

Michonne used to be really great with kids, but she’s rusty at it. Her only recent experience is with Carl and her usual strategy is to treat him like any other adult…just shorter. That doesn’t seem to be cheering him up in this situation however so she tries a different approach.

Filling her mouth with crazy cheese, she stretches her arms out, turns to Carl, and moans, doing her best walker impression.

He looks at her like she’s an idiot, then walks ahead.

Deflated, Michonne wipes the cheese away from her lips and reconsiders her strategy. Carl liking her is always something she’s taken for granted. Just yesterday he was crying with joy to see her, this morning he was goofing off, and now he barely has time for her.

 _I wonder if this is how Rick feels._  

She knows it’s more than the beginning of teenage mood swings. Carl is experiencing a terrible grief, the sort that he hadn’t been exposed to before even in this world. Losing his mother had been difficult, but Michonne doubted it had prepared him for the loss of his baby sister. 

With a sigh she marched ahead to join Carl on the deck of the next house they’re about to search. She knows what she needs to do.

“I’m sorry,” Michonne tells him abruptly, feeling his curious attention fall on her. “I’m not very good at making boys your age laugh.” She pounds on the door and peers inside, trying to stir up any potential walkers that could surprise them. 

“I was laughing.” Carl defends. Michonne looks back at him. “Inside,” he adds, sheepish.

Michonne shakes her head. At least he’s kind enough to _attempt_ to spare her feelings. “Toddlers find me funny,” she comments casually, trying to lead him into this conversation without seeming too obvious that she’s doing it. “Two, three year olds…”

Like a fish to a hook, Carl’s attention is caught. “What do you mean…toddlers?”

“I had a three year old son.” The words almost sound foreign as they come out of her mouth. She’s never said them before, and yet they feel natural, not choked with grief like she’d expected them to. “And _he_ happened to find me very funny.”

Not wanting to see his reaction, Michonne opens the door and starts giving instructions. “We need food, batteries, water, in that order.”

Carl practically trips over his own feet in his haste to keep up with her. “Why did you never tell me you had a kid!” He demands, eyes blown wide with curiosity. “What was his name? Did you have any others? Were you married?”

Under his barrage of questions, Michonne feels the grief start to creep up and she knows she needs to assert some control over the situation. “I’ll answer one question at a time…one room at a time…and only after we’ve cleared it,” she decides. 

As much as he would deny it, Carl does still hold onto a childlike love for games, and his mood visibly lightens as they progress through the house. The questions he asks are simple enough (what was his name? did you have any other kids?) but the weight of digging up those painful memories begins to take its toll on Michonne.

It’s worth it, she tells herself as she watches Carl busy himself trying to find something useful in the sparse hallway they’re checking. She told Rick she was done taking breaks and now she has to live up to it. 

“Does this count?”

Carl hands her a wrapped-up painting that definitely does _not_ count. But he looks so hopeful that Michonne takes it from him with a smile. “Technically yes.” She waits for the next question, but he’s hesitating, obviously working up to something. “So…?”

“How long has it been?” He asks her quietly, with those serious bright eyes that look far too old on his youthful face.

Michonne inhales. Centers herself. “It happened after…” After the infection started. After she had to put down her own parents. After they fled to a refugee camp. After she left him alone with her depressed boyfriend and friend. After she returned to find the fences down. “After everything happened,” she concludes simply. She’s not ready to go into the details yet. She doesn’t know if she ever will be.

“Does my dad know?”

“Never told him.” Carl nods, accepting this answer, his eyes flicking back toward her in surprise when she adds: “Never told _anyone_ …until just now.”

She watches his face as the enormity of her confession sinks in. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

 _Secret_. The word hits her oddly. “It’s not really a secret,” Michonne admits, her voice tight with unshed tears. She never meant to keep Andre from anyone, he was the most important thing in the world to her. She’d just never felt comfortable enough talking about it with anyone before.

Carl gives her a small smile. “It’s still safe with me.”

A wave of fondness washes over her as she watches him inspect the next room, his father’s heavy revolver looking strangely right in his smaller hands. Michonne can easily picture him growing into it, one day leading the charge in Rick’s place. He’s growing up right in front of her, becoming the sort of man she’d once hoped Andre would be.

Michonne unwraps the painting…only to find that it has been streaked with blood.

Disturbed, she investigates the room closest to her. There’s an adjoining room and when she walks into it, her heart drops.

The family who’d once resided in this house are all in the room with bullets in their skulls, clearly the result of some sort of suicide pact. And there in the corner…

Michonne stumbles back, a scream lodged in her chest. A tiny little girl, younger than Andre had been when he turned, curled up in the corner of her playpen, a blood stain under her dented skull.

“Michonne?”

Carl’s voice is approaching and Michonne hurries out of the room, slamming the door behind her. He watches her warily. “Everything okay?”

“It’s fine.” She assures him quickly. There is absolutely no way she is letting him go in that room.

Carl furrows his brows and looks over her shoulder. Then his face drops in understanding. “There’s a baby in there.”

“It’s a dog.” Michonne lies without thinking, then curses herself. He’s not stupid. After all that he’s seen, she wouldn’t be so frantic to protect him from the sight of a dead dog, and he knows that.

His head has dropped so that his hat cover his eyes and Michonne sighs inwardly. Now they’re back to square one, all the progress that she’d made with him down the drain.

“My dad let me name her.” Carl says unexpectedly, voice heavy and sad.

Michonne slumps against the door. She understands. He’d felt responsible for her, more like a caretaker and a parent than a sibling. The grief he’s experiencing now is closer to what she feels for Andre than what he went through with his mother.

“Maybe…” he sighs, then looks up at her with a strangely hopeful expression. “Maybe her and Andre are together, somewhere.”

Michonne cocks her head, touched by the unexpected sweet sentiment. That in a moment when he was overwhelmed by his own grief he’d thought of hers too and tried to come up with a way to make her feel better.

And it _does,_ actually. The thought that Andre and Judith could be somewhere peaceful, giggling and playing together. Andre would have loved Judith, she thinks. In another world they could’ve grown up together. And maybe that’s where they are now.

Andre would’ve loved Carl too. Michonne is sure of it. He would’ve thought Carl was the coolest, and Carl would’ve been good and sweet with him like he’d been with Judith. They could’ve been like brothers.

But Michonne knows that’s nothing but fantasy. Andre and Carl would’ve never known each other, because if Andre had lived her journey would not have taken her to the prison. It’s a pointless exercise to consider whether or not she would give up her new family for her old one (she’s only human and Andre was her world - she can’t bring herself to feel guilty for the thought). This is where she is now and if she can harness her pain to help bring this boy peace, then that’s what she’ll do.

“C’mon.” Michonne beckons, putting a hand on Carl’s shoulder. “It’s almost noon. Your dad will wonder where we are if we’re late.”

* * *

Later, after they finish fleeing from the house that’s apparently now full of a bunch of unsavory men, they fall into silence again. 

Rick’s clearly about to run out of steam, having not gotten the rest he woefully needed thanks to the men that invaded the house during his nap. Every step he takes is an effort and elicits a small grunt out of him.

Carl’s pensive again, hat shielding his eyes as he watches his feet.

Michonne feels dispirited, wondering if the effort she put into bringing Carl’s mood up was in vain. Maybe it was the wrong move to bring Andre into the conversation. Maybe she pushed too hard. Maybe she should have just let him grieve alone without intruding. Maybe -

“Crazy cheese?”

She looks up to see that Carl is holding out the can toward her with a friendly grin and a wink. He looks lighter, like the child she’d seen this morning. Rick watches the interaction with surprise and relief.

Michonne shakes her head, returning the grin. She’s grateful for his good mood, but now that they no longer have a home base they need to be careful about rationing their food. He tucks it away, but the bounce in his step remains.

A traincar ahead catches their attention, a banner spread out over it. They make their way to it cautiously and read the words:

_“Sanctuary for all. Those who arrive survive.”_

“What do you think?” Michonne asks Rick. Whatever he decides, she’ll follow. 

Rick nods. “Let’s go.” He looks at Carl and Michonne, nodding again. “Let’s go.”

They continue down the train tracks, a destination now in mind, following the path.

Michonne thinks about how just days ago she was doing the same thing, alone and hopeless. Now, with her boys beside her, she feels more than just hope.

She feels _home_.


	8. Irreplaceable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is more Richonne than Carchonne again, but it fits with the theme of motherhood so...yeah. No Carl in this oneshot.
> 
> Set between Season 5 and 6. We are going to pretend that the walking dead's timeline isn't crazy and there's a bit of a time gap between Rick killing Pete and the herd.

Michonne scowls darkly into her drink, the sticky summer air making sweat condense on her skin like raindrops on a windshield. It’s late, everyone in the house is asleep, but here she is out on the back porch with a gin and tonic like some brooding antihero in an old 40s film noir. 

“Did your drink do something to you?”

She looks up to see Sasha making her way up the steps, giving her a small, tired smile. She must have just gotten off her watch shift.

“What?” Michonne questions her, the gin making her a little bleary. Just a little, of course. They all have to keep their sense sharp.

“The way you’re glaring at your drink makes me think it must’ve done something to you,” explains Sasha, setting her rifle down.

Michonne returns her smile, trying to reign in her irritability. Sasha seems to get more carefree every day and she doesn’t want to bring her down. “I’m just in a bad mood. Ignore me.”

Sasha takes the seat next to Michonne. “Or you could talk about it.”

Without even giving it a thought, Michonne shakes her head. “I don’t want to bother you.”

“C’mon.” The younger woman levels her with an incredulous look. “I think we’re past that, don’t you? Besides, after all the bullshit you put up with from me, I owe you.”

Michonne considers. “It’s petty,” she warns Sasha.

“Thank god. I wish all our problems could be petty.” Sasha raises her eyebrows expectantly, silently saying _go on_.

With a sigh, Michonne takes a sip of her drink again. Liquid courage. “I…this is going to sound awful, but…I don’t think I like Jessie.”

She cringes as the words hang in the air. It sounds even pettier aloud than it did in her own head.

“Okay?” Sasha looks confused. “You’re allowed not to like people, you know.”

“Her husband just died. Her _abusive_ husband. She’s an abuse survivor and we’re supposed to be helping her, not getting irritated with her. I’m awful.”

Sasha scrunches up her face in thought. “I mean, true, but…we’ve all been through some pretty awful shit. Disliking someone who’s suffering doesn’t make you awful, it just makes you human.”

“I guess.” Michonne sets down her drink and rubs her face. Sasha’s words didn’t make her feel any better. She’s cut people who were going through less than Jessie is more slack. There’s just something about Jessie that _grates_ on her though.

Her friend seems to sense that Michonne isn’t mollified, because she changes tacts. “What is it about her that you find irritating? Has she done or said anything to you?”

“No.” She instantly denies, then reconsiders. “Well, not really. Nothing important.”

“Like what?”

“Like…” Michonne purses her lips. “Like, she’s just around all the time, in the house, and she acts like it’s her right to just be there. And I know she’s invited, that Rick and Carol are trying to help her after everything with Pete. And I don’t have a problem with that, I want to help her too, she’s just so…comfortable. Too comfortable. She picks up Judith without asking anyone if it’s okay, and she feeds her without anyone telling her to. I had to stop her from giving Judith canned pineapple, she didn’t know that she was allergic.”

“Mmmm.” Sasha hums in sympathy. “That does sound irritating.”

“I mean, she was totally mortified,” Michonne feels the need to defend Jessie a bit. “But her response was to ask Carol for a list of Judith’s allergies. And it’s not like I could tell her ‘no, stop feeding her’, she’s not my baby and Rick seems fine with it. I know she’s trying to make herself useful, that she’s trying to establish herself and ingratiate us to her, it’s a survival tactic. I don’t fault her for it, I just keep finding myself getting irritated with her.”

“Is the canned pineapple what’s got you in a bad mood?” Sasha questions curiously.

Michonne shakes her head. “No, that was the other day. _Today_ she pulled me aside to talk about Ron and Carl, and how she wants to set up an _intervention_.” She scoffs at the word. “She’s worried about Ron, he’s angry about Pete’s death and he blames Rick, which I suppose is fair, but he also blames Carl which definitely isn’t fair. Jessie wants them to sort things out and talked to me about arranging some sort of meeting to get them together and force them to talk it out, even suggested we trick them into it.” 

“That doesn’t sound like the greatest idea.”

“It’s a _terrible_ idea!” Michonne exclaims, the gin making her more belligerent than usual. “First of all, they’re not five. They don’t need their parents to force them to make up like they’re having some playground disagreement. Secondly, if Ron really does blame Carl for his father’s death, I’m not exactly mouthing at the bit to stick Carl in a room with him. So I told Jessie no, that’s up to Carl, I’m not comfortable making a decision like that for him. And then _she says_ ,” Michonne hisses between her teeth, getting angry all over again, “‘Oh no that’s fine, I’ll just ask Rick then.’”

Sasha whistles lowly. “Wow.”

“I know,” seethes Michonne, gulping down a large mouthful of her drink that makes her head buzz a  little. “I know she didn’t mean it as a slight, but it was just the way she said it you know? Like she only went to me because she didn’t want to bother Rick but then when I didn’t agree she decided to go over my head.”

“Well,” Sasha considers, “maybe she thought that you meant you weren’t comfortable making decisions for Carl because you’re not his parent.”

“That’s exactly what she thought,” Michonne agrees. “And that’s the problem. That she would even think that’s what I meant, like it made sense to her that I would feel that way.” She rubs at her temples. “I know I’m not making any sense right now, I told you it was petty.”

Michonne finishes off her drink, frowning at the bottom. Where did it all go?

“I don’t think it is.” Sasha disagrees. “And I might have a theory, though I’m not sure you’ll want to hear it.”

“Try me.” 

“Okay…” Sasha exhales heavily, seeming to search for the right words. “You and Rick, you’re close. You were friends back at the prison, and then after that when you were on the road together you got closer, to the point that when we all found each other again you were pretty much partners.”

Something under Michonne’s skin prickles uncomfortably. “Yes, we’re close but it isn’t like that.” She denies quietly. It’s something she’s thought about a few times, but it was always shoved aside as unimportant usually because they were trying not to get killed. Her bond with Rick is one of the few truly good things she has in this world and she would never want to screw that up by complicating it with romantic feelings.

“Maybe, maybe not.” The look in Sasha’s eyes is penetrating and Michonne shifts under her scrutiny. “Regardless, the two of you were a team. You were basically the mom and dad of our little group, especially to Carl and Judith. He left you behind at the church to look out for them when the rest of went to Atlanta because he knew if we didn’t come back you were the best person to take care of his kids if he died. And that’s just how things were. Then we get here and suddenly Rick’s making eyes at this pretty blonde woman who’s basically got ‘Mom’ written on her forehead. And then she’s suddenly invading your home, feeding Rick’s baby, trying to parent Rick’s kid, and Rick doesn’t seem to have a problem with it, even though those are things you had to earn.”

Michonne has to stop herself from tearing up because Sasha’s words hit her all at once and holy shit she’s _right_. That was where her anger was coming from and she didn’t even realize it. Her place in the Grimes family was something hard won and when they’d been out on the road she’d never doubted its permanence…until they got to Alexandria.

Sasha still isn’t done with her theory. “So you’re irritated with her because you resent that she can just swoop in and earn Rick’s trust without doing anything or putting the time in that you have. But also, you’re afraid because you’re worried she’s going to replace you. You’re worried that Rick let you in and let you take care of his kids while we were out on the road, but now that we’re behind walls and they don’t need constant protection he’s going to replace you with the white girl.”

Damn, now she _is_ tearing up. Michonne wipes at her eyes, breathing out a shaky sigh. “That’s…jesus. I hadn’t even thought about it like that.”

“Of course you did.” Sasha side-eyes her. “Everyone likes to talk about how ‘things are better now’ because we don’t judge people and racism is cured and blah blah blah, but that’s bullshit. Those prejudices are still there…and so are the insecurities.”

“So you think that’s what’s happening.” Michonne questions quietly. “You think Rick’s replacing me with a white woman?”

“ _Hell_ no,” scoffs Sasha. “I think _you_ think that. Look, maybe they’ll get together. Maybe they’ll eventually even get married or some shit. But you’re still Rick’s partner. Jessie coming into the picture doesn’t push you out of it. She can’t replace you, especially when it comes to the kids. Especially _Carl_ \- can you ever picture a situation where he’d listen to Jessie over you? Come on.”

“That’s true.” Michonne has to admit with a slight smile. “It’s not really Carl I’m worried about though.”

“It’s Rick.” 

It isn’t a question. Michonne nods, hating herself for feeling like an insecure teenager. _It isn’t about romance_ , she tells herself forcefully. “I’m worried if he starts a relationship with Jessie he’ll go to her instead of me. That he won’t need me to take care of them anymore.”

“Well, he’s not even in a relationship with her.” Sasha reminds her. “So you’re twisting yourself in knots of something that might not even happen. And I can’t speak for Rick, but I think you’ve earned a permanent place when it comes to those kids. And if even I can see that, don’t you think Rick can too? They’re _his_ kids, if the rest of us notice everything you do for them I’m sure that Rick does too. You’re basically their mother.”

Michonne feels knocked off balance by the assessment and she leans forward to clasp her friend in a tight hug. “Thank you,” she whispers, tears dripping off the end of her nose. The word ‘mother’ is something she’d never thought she’d hear used in association with herself again, but hearing if from Sasha…it feels strangely right. The way that she feels about Carl, and Judith to a  slightly lesser extent (every day it gets a little easier to love the little girl, to allow room in her heart for another baby that isn’t her son), is a feeling she is more than accustomed to. 

“You helped me when I needed it,” Sasha murmurs into her shoulder. “I’m just glad I can help you a little in return.” 

They break the hug and Sasha yawns widely. “Sleep,” Michonne orders sternly, patting Sasha on the arm. “You were on watch for twelve hours, you’ve earned it.”

Sasha grabs her rifle and trudges down the steps, toward the home she shares with Glenn, Maggie, Abraham, Rosita, and Tara. “Yes Mom.” She replies teasingly, but fondly.

Fresh tears spring in her eyes and Michonne wipes at her face. Lord, this is why she doesn’t like to drink, she always turns into a fountain after one glass.

Soothed by Sasha’s reassurances and the alcohol, Michonne’s sleep is unplagued by self-doubt and worries. Those thoughts spring right up again though when she’s faced with Rick and Judith first thing in the morning. Daryl and Carol are both busy and Carl will probably sleep straight through noon if they let him.

“Hey would you mind-“ Rick begins, but Michonne’s already getting the milk out to refill Judith’s bottle. He shoots her a grin. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He glances away from her and she allows herself a moment to admire his jawline, watching his lips quirk into a smile as Judith greedily flexes her little hands toward the bottle.

“So I talked to Jessie yesterday.”

Just like that, Michonne’s good mood is gone. “Oh?”

“She wants to get Ron and Carl together, thinks they have some things they need to sort out.” Rick turns back to her and Michonne schools her face into a neutral expression. “What do you think?”

Jessie must have relayed that Michonne wasn’t a fan, she reasons. “I think that’s a decision that Carl would have to make for himself,” Michonne replies carefully. “I’m not sure if arranging a meeting is the best plan, they’re not children who need adults to fix things for them.”

Rick nods and Michonne feels relief at his agreement. “Yeah. I didn’t even know things weren’t okay between them, though I guess it makes sense. I think our best bet would be to talk to Carl, figure out what’s going on, and give him advice on how to handle it.”

“That sounds like a solid plan,” agrees Michonne, trying to ignore the way her heart soared when Rick said ‘our.’ “I think we should encourage him to be cautious. Given everything Jessie said about how erratic Ron’s been acting, I’m a little nervous about Carl being around him. It’s not that I don’t trust him…I just don’t trust Ron.”

Rick nods again, then frowns suddenly. “Wait, Jessie talked to you already?”

“Yes, she ran her idea by me separately. I assumed she told you.” 

“No,” Rick shrugs, apparently thinking nothing of it. 

Unbeknownst to him, however, the fact that Jessie hadn’t told him was a _very_ big deal. It meant that he’d come to her for her opinion without knowing that she didn’t approve. 

Michonne fought back the wide grin threatening to spread across her face. 

Maybe Sasha was right after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is something I thought of because I was reading old anti-Richonne comments and...ew. Just ew. There were some people who even argued that Michonne was like a "mammy" to Carl and Judith which is yikes on so many levels. Also people were so ready and willing to accept Jessie as Rick's new love interest (going so far as to think she would take over Andrea's storyline from the comics? lol are you kidding?) and a potential mother figure for Carl and Judith, completely ignoring all of the Grimes 2.0 development...and then these were the same people who claimed Richonne came out of nowhere. Really, could you be more transparent?


	9. Mom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set sometime after 6.11 "Knots Untie."  
> Sort of a companion piece to the last chapter "Irreplaceable."

"No!"

"C'mon, Judy, open up!"

"No!"

"Judy, it's applesauce. You  _love_ applesauce."

"No!"

With a frustrated scowl, Carl abandons his attempts to feed his sister and turns to Michonne in exasperation. "I think we've found her new favorite word."

"Yes, we seem to have hit that phase." Michonne agrees, recalling how Andre went through a similar stubborn streak when he was around Judith's age. Remembering how she dealt with his fussy morning habits, she pulls out the tin of oatmeal from the pantry (it's woefully light, as all their provisions are) and holds it in front of Judith. "Judy, do you want  _oatmeal_?" She asks, shaking the tin. "Or applesauce?" She taps the bowl of applesauce on Judith's highchair.

Judith's little brows furrow as she takes in her two options. "Abgah!" She decides, pointing at the applesauce.

"Okay then." Michonne puts the oatmeal away.

Carl attempts to feed her again. This time, Judith accepts the applesauce without defiance. "How did you do that?" Carl asks Michonne incredulously.

"She's not saying 'no' to be difficult, she's saying it because she wants to feel independent," explains Michonne. "So when you give her options, she feels like she's making a choice and she's not just doing what you're telling her to do."

"Oh." Carl watches as Judith licks the applesauce off her lips. "It's kind of cool that she's becoming more...person-like. Even if it can be annoying."

"Mmm." It's funny to Michonne that Carl would take Judith wanting to be independent as a sign of her growing a personality. Because of course he could relate to that.

An awkward silence creeps over them like a heavy blanket as Judith eats her breakfast with next to no fuss. Michonne hasn't seen much of Carl since she got back from the Hilltop. It wasn't like it had been purposeful, she'd been busy helping to plan the strike against the "Saviors".

Or at least, she hadn't thought it had been purposeful. But then when Carl had brought Judith down for breakfast while she had barely begun to heat up her own oatmeal, Michonne had felt like a trapped animal.

He hasn't said anything and a large part of Michonne just wants to finish her food and escape before he has a chance to confront her. That would be the coward's move though, and she isn't a coward...usually.

"Carl..." Michonne forces herself to say, before she can chicken out. "We should probably talk..."

"About?"

"You know. The other day."

"What other day?"

Michonne narrows her eyes at him, certain that he's being obtuse on purpose. But his face is as guileless as Judith's.

"The other day. When your father and I..." She trails off, not wanting to voice it aloud.

"You mean when you both came out of his bedroom half dressed in front of Jesus and half of Alexandria?" Carl asks innocently, the beginnings of a smirk starting to reveal itself on his face, and now she knows for sure that he's messing with her. 

"It's not funny." She protests archly, trying to maintain her dignity. 

"No, you're right." He nods, smile spreading wider now. "It's hilarious."

"Okay, you know what," Michonne swats at him with her napkin. "I was going to be _mature_ about this and try to have an adult conversation with you, but if you're going to be a brat-"

Carl laughs, dodging the napkin. "Sorry, sorry. Go on. I won't make fun of you, I promise."

"You'd better not," she warns him sternly, trying to hide her relief that he seemed to be so lighthearted about the subject. "I just wanted to check with you and make sure you were okay with it. You're allowed to not be, just so you know." Rick had told her that he talked to Carl the morning it happened, right before they left for the Hilltop. He'd claimed Carl was fine, but Rick could also be as perceptive as a stack of bricks sometimes. Michonne wants to check for herself.

He shrugs. "I mean, I was a little annoyed at first." Carl admits. "But only because I thought you guys had been, like, hooking up in secret or something-"

"No, no." Michonne hurriedly assures him. "We would never have hidden something like that from you. If Jesus hadn't interrupted and that whole fiasco hadn't happened, we would have told you right away. And if I'd had  _inkling_  something like that was going to happen, I would have made sure it was alright with you first."

"What, you would have asked for my permission?" Carl raises his eyebrow, sounding torn between being amused and grossed out.

Michonne snorts, feeling her cheeks burn. For a second she pictures going to Carl and saying  _hey is it okay if I go bang your dad? Alright, cool see you later kiddo!_ "No." She refutes, shaking her head at the imagery. "I would have checked with you about how you felt about your dad and I being together."

"So you are together then." He clarifies, nodding. "It's serious, not something casual."

"No, definitely not." A horrible thought strikes her and she has to keep her calm as she asks. "Did your father say something that-"

Carl immediately picks up on what she's thinking. "No, Dad didn't say it was casual. He said it was 'different'. I just wanted to make sure  _you_ didn't think it was casual."

Michonne's stomach flips. It's strange and wonderful, to still be able to feel something as innocent as butterflies over a new relationship. But at the same time, she's able to experience the comfort and familiarity of an old and very deep friendship. It truly is the best of both worlds.

"We would never do that to you," she explains to Carl, because the truth is that she  _had_ thought about sleeping with Rick before that night. Back at the prison there had been a few times where she had considered taking that step, letting their burgeoning friendship head in a different direction. The largest obstacle that had always stopped her was Carl. Their bond had been more important to her than a potential relationship with Rick, and she knew that if things got messy that would take a toll on her friendship with Carl. "We wouldn't risk complicating what we all have here over a meaningless fling. Not that this is going to change anything," Michonne quickly adds, giving him a smile. "You're still my favorite. And even if things don't work out with your dad, we're still a family."

A bit of tension that she hadn't even realized was there before relaxes from his posture. "We are," agrees Carl, his smile soft and genuine. "But I do think this is going to work. You guys are good for each other."

"I'm glad you think so. I do too." His approval causes a warm glow to settle over Michonne. It would have been very easy for Carl to have been unhappy with this development, to be angry at his father for moving on from his mother, angry at her for disrupting the functional family unit they already had in place, and these insecurities had taken over for the past several days. But she'd been wrong to underestimate him, his ability to see things clearly and the selfless love for both of them. He just wants them to be happy. "Thank you. It means a lot to have your approval."

"I mean, if we're being honest here I expected this to happen a long time ago," Carl admits, to her surprise. "When we were on the road, I figured you guys were basically together you just weren't  _together_ together because it wasn't safe. Then when we got to Alexandria I was confused when it seemed like Dad liked Jessie all of a sudden...no offense to Jessie," he adds hastily, sounding a little guilty. "She's...I'm not glad that she's dead. But I don't think they would've been good together. And even if she hadn't died, I don't think it would've lasted."

"Maybe." It's strange because only a few months ago Michonne had been so torn up over her insecurities about Jessie. Now with the benefit of hindsight she's able to be pragmatic about it. She doesn't fault Rick for his infatuation with the other woman, as neither of them had been able to see what was right under their noses until a few nights ago. Before then it had only been the occasional fleeting thought that both of them had shoved down, dismissed as foolish fantasies.

Both of them had viewed their relationship as something that was somehow  _above_ sex, too important and fundamental to be marred by the messy complications of romance. It was only when they were sitting there on that couch, basking in each other's presence at the end of a long day and realizing this is how they wanted every day to end, that they understood that not only was their relationship not above romance, it was perfectly suited for it. 

"Your dad and I both needed to figure some things out before we could get to this point." Michonne explains as simply as she can. "I had never seriously considered it until that night. So if you thought it was going to happen a long time ago, you were way ahead of the curve."

Carl chuckles, then cocks his head. "Did it have something to do with Deanna?" He asks her in a quiet, curious voice.

Michonne smiles sadly as she thinks about the former Alexandrian leader. "Yes, in a way. Before she died, she asked me what I wanted my life to look like. And then when I got home, when I was with you and Judith, and then talking to your dad later...it all just sort of clicked. That it didn't matter what the rest of my life looked like, as long as it had you three in it."

"Well, I actually meant more about what we talked about on the porch."

"Oh." Michonne isn't sure how to answer this without coming across as presumptuous. She knows how she feels about Carl, has known for a long time. And she thinks he might see their bond the same way, though he's never said anything that would reveal that to her...until the other night. "That played some part in it." She tries to tread carefully, knowing full well that it could be a touchy subject for him. "When you called me family and said you loved me, that meant a lot to me."

"I mean, but it was more than that." Carl glances at her shyly as he feeds Judith the last of the applesauce. "You know that, right?"

"I do." She understood the implications of it, how he'd compared Spencer and Deanna's relationship to their own. And she knew too that his insistence on Spencer being the one to put Deanna down had been because of his own experience stopping his mother from turning. She just hadn't been sure he even realized what he'd been implying. But apparently it  _had_ been intentional. "You're...Carl, I see you as my son." Michonne admits aloud for the first time. "And that has nothing to do with whether or not your dad and I are together. That's just you and me."

A wide beam stretches across his face, the happiest Michonne has seen him since he was shot. "Yeah." Carl agrees, his voice a little choked up. He clears his throat, rubbing at his eye and Michonne feels her own eyes start to get a little misty. "But you guys being together makes explaining who you are to people a little easier. Now I can just say you're my step-mom."

"Hey!" Michonne protests, trying to ignore the lump in her throat. "Woah, wait. It's been five days. We're not  _married_ , let's not get ahead of ourselves."

"You guys were married before you even got together," Carl retorts, grabbing a washcloth to wipe off Judith's face. She squirms out of his grasp. "Judy, c'mon. Your face is gonna get sticky."

"No!"

Carl throws an exasperated look at Michonne. "And she was being _so_ patient too. Judith, don't make me hold you down."

 "She was probably eavesdropping on our conversation." Michonne chuckles. "She wants the lowdown on her daddy's love life."

Judith smacks the washcloth away and Carl gives Michonne a beseeching expression. "Can you-"

"Only because you're my favorite." Michonne takes the cloth from him. "Judy, do you want to go play with Dumbo?" She asks, referring to the little girl's stuffed elephant.

For a second it looks like Judith's about to say  _No_ automatically, then she processes what Michonne has said and nods enthusiastically instead.  _Yes_ is a difficult word for her, which is a large part of why she says  _No_ so often.

"Okay, then we gotta wash up first." 

"Isn't bribing bad?" Carl asks her.

"Not if we were going to do it anyway," defends Michonne, wiping off Judith's face. "Okay, all done! See, that wasn't so bad. Are you ready to play now?"

"Meesho!" Judith exclaims excitedly, reaching out her hands for Michonne.

Michonne picks her up out of the highchair, then catches Carl watching her with an unreadable expression. "What?"

"Nothing, I just..." He shrugs, nonchalant. "She doesn't have to call you that. She can call you something else. If you want her to."

It takes Michonne a second to realize what he's referring to. Her heart catches in her throat. "I'll think about it," she promises quietly. It's not that she doesn't love Judith or think about her as her own. It just seems awfully presumptuous to her to have Rick's baby start calling her mom only a few days after they get together.

And...there is a large part of her that feels like she doesn't deserve it. Carl seeing her as a mother figure, a step-mother, is one thing. But for Judith to grow up calling her  _mom_ , the only mother she's ever known? How can she possibly accept something like that? 

"You don't have to." Carl assures her. "Dad and I were just talking about it the other day, and I just wanted you to know that if it's something you decide you want, I'm okay with it." 

"Thank you." Michonne kisses the top of his head, something that she can only do when he's sitting down now. "Alright. We've got a playdate with a stuffed elephant." She announces, bouncing Judith up higher just so she can hear her giggle. "I'll see you later, kid. Please don't climb over any walls today." 

"Well, Enid says she doesn't want to go out there anymore so-"

"Oh my god, is  _that_ why you were going out there?" Michonne demands, continuing to bounce Judith as she slowly makes her way out of the kitchen. " _Carl_."

"It's not what you're thinking, we're friends." 

"But you want to be more."

Carl shakes his head, expression souring. "It doesn't matter anyway, it's not like she'd want - look, that's not why I was going out there," he abruptly changes tact, dropping whatever he'd been about to say. "You stay behind walls too long, you get soft. I don't want that to happen, but now that she doesn't want to go out there I can't go, because I'm not going to go out by myself, I'm not an idiot-"

"That's good to know."

" _Meesho_." Judith whines impatiently, tugging on her hair.

"Look, there are better ways for you to not get soft," Michonne informs him, closing her hand over Judith's fist to stop the tugging. "I can talk to Rick about letting you start helping out on patrols or something. Channel that restlessness into something productive."

"Thank you," he replies genuinely. "I've gotta head out, I'm helping Denise today. You'd better go before she pulls your hair out of your scalp."

Michonne rolls her eyes and turns around to head for the stairs. "Have a good day."

"Bye Mom."

She freezes in her tracks at the slip-up, but only hears Carl's footsteps and then the door closing. Maybe he didn't notice. Or maybe it was even intentional. She wouldn't put it past him.

"Your brother is a handful," Michonne informs Judith, continuing to make her way up to Judith's room. 

Despite obviously not understanding Michonne's words, Judith nods vigorously. Michonne chuckles, her stomach a swirl of unnameable emotions. Hearing Carl call her "mom", even if it was an accident, had felt much more right than she'd thought it would. There was a part of it that hurt, of course, but it was more like the dull almost satisfying ache of a wound that was finally beginning to heal. 

Michonne set Judith down on the floor, picking up Dumbo and handing it to Judith. She watched the little girl make the elephant prance around in the air for awhile, before Judith offered it to Michonne with the familiar cry of "Meesho!"

Michonne takes the elephant from her. Hesitates. 

She smiles at Judith, pointing a finger at her chest. 

 __" _Mama_. Can you say Mama, Judy?"


End file.
